


All I See

by Drapetomania



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8497294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drapetomania/pseuds/Drapetomania
Summary: “Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Stiles accuses and smacks Derek’s chest with the back of his hand. Derek grunts and finally looks away from the boy lying next to him, who had pulled his eyebrows together and pursued his lips in his most accusatory expression. Reaching for the hands that is resting on his chest, he closes his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind.“When do I ever listen to you, Stiles?”“You are the worst personal butler in the history of butlers ever. I’m telling your mother,” Stiles scowls but he doesn’t pull his hand away from Derek’s grips, lets him turn it this way and that.“That’s because I’m not a butler,” Derek snorts, unable to stop his smile from widening.“You have to follow my every order. You are my butler. You’re basically my slave.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redeyedwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/gifts).



> Written for my dear friend's birthday because Isaac rocks. Go check out his stuff!
> 
> Note: set in the past, but don't count on any historical accuracy. This is just my own rambling.

The sunlight catches on Stiles’ eyes like it does on the glass chandeliers in the ballroom at 3 o’clock every day, when the sun breaks out between the trees just right. Stiles’ eyes shine like the sun itself, brightening everything around them. They make the sky bluer and the clouds fluffier. They make the birds sing louder and they warm the air the way the oven warms the kitchen with the sweet scent of jam filled pastries whenever Oliver bakes.

Those are only a few reasons why Stiles has the prettiest eyes in the whole land – and probably, Derek thinks, in the whole world. They glint in a more gracious way than the fur of their most prized red chestnut thoroughbred when freshly groomed. And even gold has nothing on the honey brown color in Stiles’ eyes that thrives with passion whenever Stiles’ talks. His eyes widen and contract in perfect harmony with Stiles’ rising and falling tone. The speckles of moles and faded sun-induced freckles that frame Stiles’ face only perfect the picture. Stiles is a masterful compilation of creamy pale skin – only reddened by the flush that ever so often befell his cheeks when he talked so fast that he lost his breath.

Derek could stare at just Stiles’ face for hours and never get bored – the way Stiles will bite his lips or let them stretch into a signature smirk that makes Derek’s stomach flop. Not to mention how much Derek likes watching Stiles aside from that, with his wild hands and surprise jerks. Stiles thrives with energy. He tells a story with every inch of his body.

Stiles is the most magnificent thing Derek has ever seen and he’s seen Lydia Martin who is rumored to be the most beautiful girl in the kingdom. Derek doesn’t see the appeal, not when he gets to look at Stiles every single day.

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Stiles accuses and smacks Derek’s chest with the back of his hand. Derek grunts and finally looks away from the boy lying next to him, who had pulled his eyebrows together and pursued his lips in his most accusatory expression. Reaching for the hands that is resting on his chest, he closes his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind.

“When do I ever listen to you, Stiles?”

“You are the worst personal butler in the history of butlers _ever_. I’m telling your mother,” Stiles scowls but he doesn’t pull his hand away from Derek’s grips, lets him turn it this way and that.

“That’s because I’m not a butler,” Derek snorts, unable to stop his smile from widening.

“You have to follow my every order. You _are_ my butler. You’re basically my slave.”

“Whoa there, Julius Caesar. We wouldn’t want all the mighty power of having a Duke as a father getting to your head, would we? You have no real power yet. You're just a boy and have a lot more to learn before you're allowed to get all cocky and big headed," Derek teases.

"You sound just like grandpa," Stiles accuses, nudging Derek's knee with his foot and tucking it in. It’s warm unlike the grass they are lying on, which is sure to leave stains. "You look like you're my age but act like you're 50. You better not start aging soon. You said you're gonna be my guard for life. Life, Derek. You're not allowed to die before me. If you do I'm gonna find you as ghost and kick your ass."

It has been peaceful in the kingdom for decades for all Derek knows, especially here in the countryside where they reside for most of the year. But it's his duty to do everything in his power to keep Stiles, as a noble heir, safe. He's in training to become a guard and he knows that if need be he will happily give his life for Stiles.

"I'd like to see you try kicking a ghost's ass. It would probably haunt _your_ ass for the rest of eternity."

"Not if it's your ghost. You'd probably just pull pranks to make me laugh. A friendly ghost," he grins.

“I can be scary," Derek protests, turning his head toward Stiles, who meets his gaze.

"Sure, you can," Stiles says in the same kind of tone his mother had used when Derek had claimed he would travel to the moon one day when he was four. Derek thinks Stiles needs a little reminder of what he is so he lifts himself onto an elbow to tower over him before he pops his fangs out and growls, flashing his eyes. Stiles just blinks and grins wider.

"What a big, scary werewolf, oh my," Stiles whispers in mock fear, reaching up to prod at Derek's cheek, where some fur had sprouted. With an indignant grunt, Derek nips at the wandering fingers. Stiles squeaks and recoils. Derek laughs and gets shoved back in retaliation. He let's himself fall back again.

"You ass," Stiles huffs but Derek knows he doesn't mean it because Stiles is still smiling and he doesn't move away. Their shoulders are touching and Derek is looking at Stiles again as he begins to talk animatedly again.

The leaves of a nearby tree rustle above them as a light breeze sweeps by, the birds are singing cheerily and Derek almost picks up their tune as well. It's like they're enveloped in their own soft, warm bubble of happiness, just the two of them, and he wishes they would never have to leave. Stiles' friendship is his most prized possession and he wouldn't have it any other way.

∞∞∞

It's always an exciting occasion when the Stilinskis organize a ball. Even more exciting this time around because Derek is officially learning about his duties as a guard. He stands next to Peter at the front of the room, near Lord Stilinski, hands folded behind his back. They’ve gotten new uniforms, dark blue detailed subtly with gold, and the stiffness of the new material is a consistent reminder to stand straight even though Derek’s feet already hurt.

He’s attended a few balls in his life at this point but it’s still quite overwhelming to see the amount of people that can fit in these rooms and how lively such a big palace can get. This week requires total commitment from the guards to ensure everyone’s safety and health. The weekend will have them on their feet with minimal sleep. It’s no coincidence that the supernatural are preferred for the job. They have been up since before dawn and Peter’s shift includes the night hours as well. Derek is to tail him as long as he can stay awake. He wants to last the whole night but after staying up with Stiles well into the evening the day before he’s not sure how long he can stay on his feet. He’s a werewolf but he’s not invincible. Not to mention that he’s only 15.

It’s Lord Stilinski’s birthday and guests have been arriving at the palace since last Sunday. For all Derek knows, there are still people arriving as of this moment, although people are already dancing and dining. The music has barely stopped for the past three hours and the room is a bizarre whirlwind of colors. It’s hard to stay focused and not let the mass blur together. The only person Derek does manage to catch sight of without fail is Stiles.

Derek knows that Stiles has never really liked fancy dress clothes and tends to slip into more comfortable wear whenever he can get away with it - which is all the time, to be honest - but he's dressed for the occasion now. A deep, radiant red covers him from head to toe, broken by patterns in white. There's golden trim along his sleeves and tailcoat, similar to the one Derek has. The fact that there's something that ties him to Stiles - even if it's a fine golden thread - is a small comfort when everyone else gets to enjoy the evening with the boy while he has to work.

Stiles is laughing, breaking out of form between the constantly moving lines of dancers; just nearly stepping on feet or bumping into people. Lydia dances neatly at his side, her face a perfectly poised mask, smiling though and Derek is surprised that she's keeping up with him. Not many people can.

“You're supposed to keep a lookout for intruders and suspicious behavior,” Peter says and Derek jerks away from the voice directly by his ear. “Not stare after Stiles like a starstruck lover.”

“Shut up, Peter!” Derek huffs, shoving the older male without looking at him. Peter chuckles, straightening again as he smirks over at Derek.

“So we're past the stage of denial, are we?” Peter continues, undeterred.

“Stop it, Peter. That’s bullshit,” Derek argues but his heart is beating hard in chest and he can feel his ears growing hot. Stiles and him as… as lovers- that is ridiculous. Isn’t it? They are just friends; really, really good friends.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Peter hums, finally backing off.

“It’s not,” is the best Derek can offer, wanting to argue but feeling tongue tied. The thought of holding Stiles’ hand like he’d seen Boyd hold Erica’s as they walked through the garden yesterday makes his stomach flop. It’s not nauseating or anything. It’s the same feeling he gets when he hears Stiles laugh or when Stiles grins at him. It’s the same feeling that he first felt when Stiles had pecked his cheek on his 7th birthday. It’s the same feeling that increases when he thinks of Stiles’ playful lips and how kissable they are.

Oh no. No, no, _no_. He does not want to kiss Stiles. Except he kind of really does.

Derek tries to keep his mind on his task and not on his newly discovered crush but it proves hard. He’s tired and his thoughts running a mile a minute doesn’t make that any easier. This can’t be good. How is he supposed to act around Stiles now? When he spots Stiles heading in his general direction Derek panics and he throws an excuse at Peter so he can disappear.

He slips into a hidden corridor, only intended for the staff and the noble family when they needed to leave unseen. The commotion dies down with every step leading away but Derek’s head still buzzes and he raises a hand to rub his eyes. Maybe he should just retire for the night. And keep avoiding Stiles until he figures out what to do. There has to be an easy solution to this. People fall in and out of love all the time, don’t they?

And he isn’t even in love. He just has a minor crush probably. That’s it.

The kitchen is only a minute away, located closely so that the food can be transported to the important rooms efficiently. Derek pours himself a glass of water and leans against a counter that currently isn't in use. Kitchen staff bustle around him but he barely even notices, mind stuck on Stiles. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. When did he ever think of anything or anyone else?

The only thing that rips him out of his thoughts ia when someone sidles up to him and bumps his shoulder. A flask is held out to him then and Derek’s gaze travels up the hand and arm to Oliver’s tired but smiling face.

“Looks like you could use some,” the male says and Derek grimaces at him, shaking his head.

“I don’t drink that stuff,” he replies- mumbles, really.

“ _That stuff_ is finely brewed wine and can keep you on your feet for 40 hours without sleep if need be,” Oliver retorts, shaking the flask gently so that the liquid sloshes but Derek shakes his head again.

“Are you even allowed to drink that?” he asks, although his mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t even hear Oliver’s reply. Honestly, he doesn’t even care. He has bigger things to deal with right now. Like, Stiles and how he wants to approach the whole situation.

Like he really has a choice. He would probably die on the spot if Stiles found out. What if he never wants to see him again if the truth comes out? That can’t happen. Derek can’t have that. Maybe he should really go to a training camp like Peter had suggested. He’d refused vehemently before but perhaps some distance is the better choice now. He needs to get a hold of his feelings somehow, after all.

“I heard Lord Stilinski talking with the Martins today,” Oliver suddenly mentions and Derek doesn’t even lift his gaze. He doesn’t have time for this right now, and he opens his mouth to say so, already pushing himself off of the counter.

“They mentioned organizing a marriage. The ever beautiful Miss Martin… and Stiles. Since they get along so well.”

Derek can feel Oliver’s gaze on him as he clenches his jaw and swallows heavily. Lydia and Stiles _do_ get along well. Anyone with eyes can see that. But it’s still not a perfect match. It’s far from a perfect match for _that_. Yes, Lydia and Stiles dance together and sometimes they go out on rides together, or picnics, but for all that they can entertain each other mentally, with discussions that leave Derek even more clueless than he thinks he is, she can’t keep up with Stiles’ energy. Derek hung out with them every now and then when the situation allowed it and he can vouch for the fact that sooner or later they always end up arguing, and even if they always make up in the end, it’s still not the same; not like Stiles and him.

There haven’t been enough arguments to count off the fingers of one hand, Derek thinks, and they have seen each other daily for most of their lives. It was Derek that Stiles went to when he wanted a break from everyone. It was Derek that he ran to to tell him his newest joke. It was Derek, who had been the only one to find him when Stiles had hidden after he had finally broken after his mother’s death. Derek had slept on Stiles’ floor for weeks when his night terrors had been at their worst. And yet, none of those experiences qualify him to be anything more to Stiles than a companion; a friend, a guard.

The feeling that twists through Derek’s gut now is anything but pleasant. He leaves Oliver standing there, trying to shrug on his way out, although he can’t fully tell if his shoulders moved at all. His chest is tight and he needs air. He needs space, he needs-

“Derek? Are you-”

“Not now, Laura,” Derek growls at her, and he knows it comes out gruff and unfriendly but he’s not in the mood to talk right now; not in the mood to do anything really. He bares his blunt human teeth in an attempt to convey his sincerity and she lets him walk out into the cool evening air. The moon is a thin crescent, small and frail amongst the bright stars. How weak it must feel to produce just a glimmer of light when some nights it shines full. Only three nights of 30 show it in its entirety. It’s as sad as the legend of the sea and moon, always in accord but never together; a story of love doomed to loneliness. The sun probably also plays a role in the story somehow but Derek can’t remember its purpose.

All he can think of is the tightness in his chest - an ache, almost - and when he breathes in deep he almost feels the need to lift his head and howl it out. They do that sometimes, on full moon night pack runs, and all of a sudden Derek wishes Laura would have been persistent and followed him. But he doesn’t wish to speak and be forced to mention how even howling makes him think of Stiles, and the time the boy had demanded to be taught how to hit the right tone.

He sees him everywhere; in the structures of the stars, and in the hoots of an owl, and in the way the French garden looks beautiful even in the stark blackness of the night.

∞∞∞

The sound of footsteps only registers in Derek’s brain a few second before Stiles comes into view and plops down beside him. Although Derek’s heartbeat jumps and he can’t look at him, he sighs and feels a faint sense of relief running through him.

“Big bad wolf running away and hiding,” he huffs as he shuffles into position next to Derek in the cramped crawlspace between a small wall and the hedges. They’re too old for this. Stiles is pressed all along his side, warm and reassuring. He pokes his thigh in an attempt to liven Derek up. “What are you doing out here? I looked all over for you. Peter said you went to bed or something.”

“What are _you_ doing here? You’re missing the ball,” Derek replies. _Missing the dance with Lydia._

“Like we don’t sneak out every single time. I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me. I was gonna go get you for a dance but then you suddenly disappeared and then I ran into Harris and was stuck for _hours_ there-“

“Hours,” Derek repeats, unable to help letting out a laugh. He can’t believe Stiles is the one making him feel better even when it’s Stiles that brought him down.

“Don’t make fun of me. It really did feel like hours. You know how boring and terrible he is. I still believe he’s evil. It was torture. And it’s all because of you. All your fault. Anyway, back to my original question: what are you doing out here?”

“It’s a nice night out,” Derek says, sounding unconvinced even to his own ears. Before Stiles can speak up to point that out he continues, “I just… needed some air. It’s been a long day. How did you find me?”

“Are you kidding? This is our spot. If you hadn’t been here than I would’ve been worried.” Stiles tries to sound cheerful but Derek can sense that he already is worried anyway. He wouldn’t be sitting this still and tugging at his pants otherwise. But what is Derek supposed to say? He finds comfort in Stiles at his side but he’s afraid of his own raging heart and what it might do. He had never considered that things could change between Stiles and him. He hadn’t wanted them to. Now he kind of does but he doesn’t think he could bear it if it doesn’t work out in his favor.

“You’re getting your new suit dirty,” Derek then says quietly, because Stiles doesn’t belong here in the dirt with him. He belongs in the palace, at Lydia’s side; with a human in a brightly decorated room - not in in the garden with a werewolf.

“So are you.”

Stiles has a point but Derek can’t bring himself to care. He knows his mother will throw a fit later, but any kind of future feels so far away.

“Seriously… what’s up with you? Even when you- You never avoid me like this. Did I do something?” Stiles looks over at him with his forehead creased  and Derek raises a hand to run it through his hair.

“No. You didn’t,” Derek sighs, still refusing to meet his gaze. _You’re perfect. Too perfect._ “I’ve just been thinking about what Peter said.” And because Stiles is Stiles he knows exactly what Derek means without him having to explicitly say it. Derek lifts his gaze to him for a split second at the beat of silence that follows, disturbed only by the sound of Stiles’ accelerating heart.

“You want to leave,” Stiles states, voice strained. Derek hates being the one to make him sound like that.

“I don’t-“ He doesn’t want to lie but he doesn’t know how to explain without revealing everything. “I think it might be better… You know, there’s a lot I can learn there. So I can serve you better. In the long run… it’s for the best.”

“To serve me,” Stiles repeats, picking a leaf off of the hedge and starting to rip it to pieces. A nervous, unhappy habit; one of many that Stiles has. Derek picks up the pieces Stiles throws to the side and builds a tower on his knee. “Like that’s all you do around here.”

“Well, it’s what I’m here for.”

There’s a pause.

“But you’re more than just that,” Stiles throws in. Oh, how Derek wishes the words would mean more than the friendship implied.

“I still have a duty, Stiles.”

“Yeah. To protect me. You can’t do that from halfway across the kingdom.” Stiles is growing agitated, tearing the next leaf apart rather violently.

“There’s Peter, and all the other guards.”

“I don’t want anyone else. Derek- you, you’re not just my guard. You’re my best friend. I’m gonna miss my best friend. I already miss you with all the extra training you have. This might sound selfish but I don’t want… You didn’t want this either a few weeks ago. I don’t get it. Why? Why now?”

“Did you... did you ever think about how we maybe shouldn’t be this close?” Derek asks. He loves the way Stiles immediately snorts.

“What kind of question is that?” The boy demands and Derek turns to look at him; to marvel at the determination in his features, chin jutted out. “Like there are any real rules about who can or cannot be friends. Even if there were, you know that I don’t care about rules. And you shouldn’t either. Because I say so, and if you insist on me being superior or something, then you have to listen to what I say.”

Derek wishes it were that easy. But Stiles says _friends_. And friends may be what Derek wanted all this while because he had been so terribly ignorant of his own feelings but now- now he wants more. Who’s he to demand anything though?

“We should get back.” Derek moves to crawl out and sit up but Stiles grabs his wrist.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on with you,” Stiles says firmly, meeting and holding Derek’s gaze.

“Stiles-”

“I want the truth, Derek.”

Stiles’ face is merely a few inches away from him, serious and waiting. His lips are pulled into a small frown and Derek marvels at the way Stiles doesn’t need to smile to be beautiful. He doesn’t need the sun to shine for his eyes to glow. Time ticks by silently around them as everything in Derek twists with want, yearning to be closer in any which way, while Stiles _waits_. There have only been very few moments where Derek had seen Stiles wait so earnestly, his fingers still wrapped around Derek’s wrist calmly.

It’s too much; too much at once and Derek wants to scream because it’s still not enough. He can’t ask Stiles to give him anything more than this friendship. He has to fight his emotions before he drowns in them. Taking a deep breath, he averts his gaze to look past Stiles’ shoulder.

“I am your guard, Stiles. It’s my job to protect you. First and foremost I have to assure you’re safe and healthy. The best way to do that is to go to the camp and learn as much as I can. I need to do this,” he says, voice quiet. If he speaks any louder he fears he might not be able to keep the facade up.

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles replies but the determination in his expression slips away in time with Derek pulling Stiles’ hand off his wrist. Derek stands, dropping his gaze to the floor. Stiles scrambles after him.

“You can’t seriously…” he hears Stiles starts. Derek can see his hands moving frantically from the corner of his eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re my friend. _Friends_ , Derek. Do you know what that means? I don’t want you to be my stupid guard if that means I’m going to lose you as a friend. You mean a lot to me. I don’t want to… I can’t lose that.”

He sounds vulnerable and Derek should be the one protecting him from anything causing him potential pain. How is he supposed to protect him from himself though?

“Don’t you get it? I can’t do this. I can’t,” Derek presses out desperately, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why?” It almost makes Derek laugh. That’s always the question Stiles uses to question everyone and everything but this time he actually sounds surprised.

“Because even if I died protecting you, I’d stick around to stay with you, as a ghost. Even past everything in this world- The life may leave my lungs but my heart will stay with you.” It slips out of Derek easier than he thought it would. He looks up to watch Stiles’ reaction as his heart rises to his throat.

“And if it were the other way around you know I would too. It’s always-”

“I wouldn’t even choose family. I would choose you,” Derek continues, trying to drive his point home but Stiles still looks confused. “I love you, Stiles.”

“And I love you, but-”

“As more than friends.” The moment Stiles catches up with what Derek is saying is easily perceptible. His eyes grow a little wider and Derek hears the skip in his heartbeat and the rush of breath. Derek looks away, happy for the darkness as his ears grow hot.

"More than friends?” Stiles asks hesitantly, expression soft and dare he say, hopeful? Derek nods his head slowly. His hands quiver at his side, every heartbeat hitting his chest with fear. But then Stiles is smiling and reaches out to place his palm against Derek’s cheek. Physical contact is no rare thing between them. Stiles has slept on Derek's shoulder multiple times. They hug and comfort, shove and tease but this is different in a way Derek can't put into words. His stomach coils again as if he's about to burst. It's a good feeling though. He's ready to burst and give way to the waves of emotion.

"More than friends sounds good," Stiles says. "As a matter of fact, it sounds like something I've been thinking about for a while now."

"Really?" Derek's breath comes out shaky and he's vaguely aware that he should be embarrassed about it but he's only got enough coherent thought to understand that Stiles wants him back.

"Absolutely."

 _What about Lydia,_ Derek almost asks because there's some doubt still nagging away at him, despite Stiles' steady heartbeat. But he doesn't want her to be part of their moment. It might be selfish but Stiles smiles even brighter as Derek sets an arm around him. Next thing he knows Stiles' thumb is brushing over his cheek down to tug his bottom lip from between his teeth and he has just a second to glance down at Stiles' lips before they're pressed against his own.

They connect shortly, cautiously and it's really not an overwhelming feat on its own. Nonetheless something settles in Derek's chest, like he just found the true meaning of home. It felt more right than anything else has, even more so than the first time he grew his claws out. He ducks his head as they part because he knows he's got a foolish grin on his face the size of the moon. Stiles' palm is still warm against his cheek though and he nuzzles into it when the boy doesn't speak up. It's one thing to make Stiles' speechless. It's a whole other story to do it over and over.

Before Stiles can get the gears working in his mind again, Derek takes the initiative for another kiss. This time Stiles steps in to close what's left of the space between them and gives himself into Derek's arms.

"That okay?" This time as Derek pulls back, Stiles' breath brushes across his face once, right before Stiles rears his head back and let's out a loud howl. It's off key and ridiculous but Derek can't imagine anything he would have rather heard in reply. Laughing, he drops his forehead to Stiles' shoulder.

"That okay?" Stiles asks cheekily, running a hand up into his hair, gentle and familiar; Derek can't fathom why he ever thought fighting his tie to Stiles is a good idea. Maybe you're not supposed to fight the storm, just like a werewolf is made to embrace the power of the moon. Maybe love is like the tide, always pulling away but also bringing you back to where you belong.

 


End file.
